


Well well well

by turnyourankle



Category: My Chemical Romance, The Sounds
Genre: F/M, Tour Fic, Warped 04
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-27
Updated: 2011-04-27
Packaged: 2017-10-19 00:47:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,865
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/195048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/turnyourankle/pseuds/turnyourankle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's the Warped tour and Ray has a crush. MCR gen with a side of Ray/Maja</p>
            </blockquote>





	Well well well

**Author's Note:**

> I started this...like, three years ago. And it morphed into something else in the past few weeks. Regardless, I'm very pleased that it's finished, and now I guess I can start writing other stuff. It's utterly self-indulgent, and obviously all lies. LIES. Many, many thanks to lovebashed for being my perpetual cheerleader and for looking it over for me. All remaining mistakes are my own.

Out of all the loud people at Warped, Maja doesn't even come close to the top. She's only ever really loud when she's on stage and when she laughs.

It should make her easily avoidable, but the opposite holds true when it comes to Ray. Either Ray's blindly walking in on her leaning against the guitar rack or Frank's the one making her laugh.

This time it's Frank who's the louder of the two, slapping his thigh for emphasis He stops when he notices Ray and lights up.

"Ray! Ray, you have to hear this, fucking hell," Frank sputters, gesturing at Ray to join them.

"What?"

"Listen--Okay, Maja do it again, please?"

"I don't know what to say?" Her voice is flat but she smirks; she must get this all the time, but she doesn't seem to mind too much.

"Anything. Anything at all."

She narrows her eyes, sucking on her cigarette before saying something completely intelligible, the smoke she exhales clouding around her face. Ray huffs a cough. Her voice reverberates and she stares at him intently, the dark circles around her eyes making her look that much more intense.

It's something, but it's not funny at all, in Ray's opinion.

She shrugs, turning her glance back to Frank, says, ”Is that good enough?” The intensity leeched from her voice and face, limbs loose as her palm slaps Frank's shoulder.

Frank's giggles start up again, and he's slapping Ray's shoulder a little too much for Ray's taste. "Isn't that the most hilarious thing ever?" Frank's face is all screwed up, and his pot-laugh sounds more like a drunk-laugh at this point.

”I don't think your friend is that entertained.” She cocks her head toward Ray, but doesn't look at him.

"Ray, you clearly have no funny bone in your body--God, I can't breathe, that's just. I need to find Mikey; Mikey needs to hear this."

Frank grabs one of Maja's hands, says, ”Don't move okay, I'll be right back.”

He ambles away in the direction of their bus, but changes course when he notices Gerard attempting to crawl under the NOFX bus, Ray can hear a faint, “I think my markers rolled under here,” from their direction. Frank hunkers down and starts to help, managing to get his head and shoulders under the belly of the bus.

"Sorry 'bout that." Ray shrugs, as embarrassed as if he were the one mocking Maja. He takes a swig of his beer; he can't look at her lips from that angle. “He's very...easily distracted. And entertained.”

“Are you saying you don't enjoy my language skills?”

“I—uh, no I mean—”

“I'm fucking with you, Ray, relax.” She shrugs, and says more than asks, “Besides, isn't that just Frank?”

“Yeah, yeah I guess it is.”

”And,” she narrows her eyes, takes another drag off her cigarette, ”he's getting me a six pack for this. Worth it.”

“Unless he forgets.”

“I'm not gonna let 'im.” It sounds so casual, the way she says it, her hand is cradling her chin, and her back is hunched. Cut off shorts and high heels, more gray than black from the dust. She's so unlike any type that Ray might have, and yet.

“So. What did you say?”

“I love your hair.” Her Rs are prominent, her accent slipping a little. Even the way she speaks is hot.

“Oh, I--thank you,” Ray says, and his voice comes out way higher than he expected. He's unsure whether that's her answer or just a comment, but he lets it slide. Maybe there really was a joke being said after all; if it's on him he doesn't care to find out.

\--

  
Ray's making himself a BLT sandwich with leftovers about to go bad—hold the tomato and lettuce, with added cheese—when he hears a scuffle coming from outside and Otter's drum sticks roll to the floor.

Otter doesn't attempt to pick them up, attention focused on what's going on outside, his forehead pressed against the window.

His eagerness doesn't strike Ray as anything out of the usual; last time Otter got that excited was when Bert said he'd shave off his eyebrows and eat them with his cereal for 10 bucks.

“Dude, duuuude, come over here,” Otter says, waving Cortez over when he emerges from the back of the bus. He too ends up with his face pressed up against the glass, with a look on his face that he usually reserves for porn – truly, this is knowledge Ray would've been happy to live without.

Cortez brings his fist to his mouth and lets out a chuckle and a, “Damn.”

They don't say anything else; both of them still and intently looking out the bus window. Their silence piques Ray's curiosity more than anything.

“What's going on?” He's walking in on this one, he realizes, slapping the buttered piece of bread on top of his sandwich, masterpiece completed.

“You have got to see this, man,” Cortez says, waving him over without moving his face.

There are two people huddled close against the NOFX bus, in full view. Both skinny and small, glimpses of stark blonde hair and burr of flashy red move rhythmically. It's obvious that they, whoever they are, are making out.

He can tell that they're both girls, which is probably where Otter and Cortez's excitement factors in. The blonde, flush against the bus, has clunky heels, visible from between the redhead's legs. He's seen the redhead around, red lipstick and nails to match her hair, carrying merch around and wiping off tables. And okay, two chicks making out, that's hot, but not extraordinary, especially not considering their location. “Isn't this the kind of thing you could be watching on your computer anyway, it's not like you can see much.”

“If you can't say anything nice, don't say anything at all,” Otter singsongs.

“Just enjoy the show, dude.”

Ray's ready to abandon the unremarkable spectacle for his sandwich when the blonde lifts her head and he can tell, instantly, that it's Maja. Her bangs cut sharply across her forehead; the cut looks new, but he can recognize her face. The redhead moves and her face is shielded again. He's infinitely turned on and embarrassed at once.

“I don't think we should be looking at this,” he says, voice muddled and throat dry.

Otter doesn't move, says, “Okay, so, I know you like to flaunt your conscience or whatever, but it's not like we’re peeping on them—”

“Well—,” Cortez says, cocks his head. He doesn't move, though, instead brings his thumb to his mouth and bites it. “Let's be honest.”

Otter dismisses him with the wave of a hand and a puffed exhale. He's not giving up his prim spot either. “—They're in public, so it doesn't count. They know they might be watched; it's part of the thrill. We might even be getting them off.”

“Oh, I like the thought of that.”

“Right?”

Ray attempts a pout, but he can't not look, eyes searching for details from the awkward angle. He can't see Maja's hands, nor the girl's; it looks like they're in each other's pants. There's barely anything to see, other than jerked arm movements, heads dipping, and legs brushing against each other. He doesn't need much; his imagination fills in the rest nicely.

“These are the times those porn angles would be useful,” Otter snorts. “Wonder who the chick is.”

Cortez shrugs, “Does it matter?”

The girl dips her head down, briefly, and Ray can spot Maja's sharp chin and fluttering eyelashes. Her face is pivoting up, and her tongue is peeking out of her mouth. And the back of the girl's head covers his view again.

They scuffle a bit, and he can tell something happens, because they stop moving. Maja's hands surface, fingers cradle the redhead's hair, slender and pale against the violent red.

To say he dreams about it would be a lie. But he sees Maja's face when he comes that night; biting his lip and grunting as quietly as he can; listening to the other's heavy breathing in the dark.

–

On one of the hottest days yet, Ray and Patrick have a studio session in the improvised bus studio. The darkness of the room and the sound insulation keeping them cool and isolated.

Ray has to adjust to the light when he comes out again, squinting and letting the warmth crawl over his skin.

Maja's smoking in the parking lot, she's barefooted for once, and sitting on a cinder block. He gets a closer look at her hair now, the left side of her head shaved down to a buzzcut, the rest still down to her shoulders.

Her legs are stretched out on the ground, and he watches her flex the muscles of her legs for a couple of seconds. He waves at her, and a puff of smoke escapes her mouth.

“Hey, pussycat.”

He's the only one there; she can only have meant him. “Yeah, uh, hey.”

“What's up?”

He shrugs, and hunkers down next to her; his jeans already feel incredibly uncomfortable, and he's only been back out for a couple of minutes. The stiff fabric stretches taut across his thighs, the waist digging into his hipbone.

“I like your hair, it's new, isn't it? It was longer before, right?”

She nods. “It just got very messy to keep track of, and way too fucking hot. If this doesn't let up I'll have to shave off the whole thing.”

“Yeah, I know the feeling. Head sweat is the worst.”

“Yours looks great though, as always.” She leans toward him and lifts her hand, almost putting it in his hair and then pauses. “May I?”

He shrugs again; it's the most casual thing he can muster. It seems to be a moot attempt once she's got her fingers twisting in his hair, and yeah, he's pretty damn grateful that there's no head sweat yet. She tugs at it lightly, before letting go, her hand dropping in her lap.

“There's a really good bounce to this, gotta say, I'm impressed. I would assume you don't condition or anything—” She stops herself, and smiles, shaking her head. “Cosmetic nonsense, sorry. You've got the good hair genes, s'what I'm saying.”

“Yours is great too, though.” He nods at her messy blonde do. It looks greasy up close, strands of it tucked over her ear, and on her shoulders. Her roots are dark, almost black; they match her eyeliner.

“Fuck off, dude,” she says, the syllables bubbling out in a fit of half-laughter. “My hair is a fucking mess. And I fucking love it. But it is. It's a mess. No need for big fat white lies. I make it work.”

She pats his chest, and he thinks her palm lingers, a little. Maybe. If he weren't so unable to read her he might take it as a come on.

“But it's sweet. You're too much of a sweetheart, Ray, but I bet everyone tells you that.”

\--

“Don't tell me you're actually doing a crossword.” Frank slumps down on the bench, hands empty despite having spent the better part of a half an hour at the breakfast buffet, which is actually more of a booth. Mikey's carrying two coffee cups, balancing them carefully as he perches on the edge of the table.

“I mean, seriously, dude. I think we feel bad enough already.” Frank's head is resting on the wooden table, face inching towards the spot of sun. Tucking his arm under his chin, he sighs. “If I wasn't so hungover I'd slap you silly. There's no need to cultivate a superiority complex this early in the morning. And especially not in Hawaiian swimming gear.”

Ray has abandoned the jeans for a pair of trunks, just this once. Only for backstage. If he can stay cool backstage, he can deal with jeans for one hour. He's prepared to defend his choice if he has to.

Mikey doesn't say anything, face perched over his cup of coffee. He's staring at it intently, face so close the steam from the coffee is making small circles of steam on his glasses.

“Okay, first of all, I wasn't actually invited to your big night in with the Boys—”

Frank snorts, says, “I guess the carrier pigeon must've died on the way. Oh, wait.”

“—shut up, asshat, I was saying. What was I saying. I was just busy—”

“With your right hand, yeah. Ba dum ching.”

“—I was not making a point. And second. I'm tired of being asked all the smart questions and not having any answers. I don't know if it's the lack of piercings or tattoos, but for some reason people seem to think I'm the intelligent one and I think I have to start living up to that reputation because I'm starting to feel dumb.”

Mikey blinks slowly, and pipes up with, “Wait. People think you're the smart one? Excuse you, I'm the only one with glasses here, I've been the victim of more stereotyping than you ever will. Also. If I wasn't probably still drunk right now I'd be rolling my eyes.”

“See, Mikey is not impressed.”

“At you, Frank, and your ridiculously bad jokes. Carrier pigeons? Right hand? Honestly, you should be happy you've got Jamia, because there's absolutely no way you could land anyone with lines like that.”

Frank rolls his eyes, and sits up. “Except I'm not trying to sleep with Ray, okay, Casanova? I already know all I'd have to do is offer some comics, bleach my hair into oblivion and add some eyeliner. Maybe some short-shorts, and heels.”

“Shut up.”

Frank squints up at Ray, baring his teeth in a devious grin. “You've got hearts for eyes, I'm telling you.”

“Dude.” Mikey snorts, half a smile visible behind the paper mug planted in front of his face. “I think you nailed it.”

Ray drops down the paper and clenches his teeth. If he leaves now, he'll never hear the end of it.

“Fine, be obnoxious. Help me out man, 'Ramble' seven letters.”

“I don't think improving your vernacular is necessary to succeed with Maja, okay. She seems to like things straight up, so just tell her.”

“I am not trying to impress her, she is not the one who asked me what I thought of Henry James.”

Frank ignores his comment, says, “Mikey, right, this works, sometimes? Just being straight up. I mean, if someone told me I was hot and they'd like to do me I'd be all, 'Gee, thanks! Would you like a blow-job with that?'”

“Totally.” Mikey nods, serious face on. He'd be more convincing if he didn't have a major case of drunken bed-head, and his glasses weren't inching toward the tip of his nose.

“See, worked for Pete, didn't it.”

“Yes, that's exactly how it happened.”

–

“Maybe I should just cut the other side, so it matches.”

Gerard's t-shirt has a hole the size of fist in his right armpit. He holds it up in front of Ray and Otter, and squints. “You can't really see it if you squint.”

Otter shrugs, and grabs hold of the fabric. He takes a sniff, and instantly recoils. Says, “Or, you can just not wear it. Expiration date passed. Seriously.”

Otter tosses the shirt in Ray's direction, and the shirt lands in Ray's lap, and Ray reflexively jerks his legs, kicking it to the ground.

“Watch it, Matt, Jesus. The stench is contagious. This is why you're supposed to bring more than one set of clothes, Gee.”

“You guys are brutal. And stupid. It's perfectly alright; it just needs a good wash.” Gerard picks it, and pulls it over his head. “And I can't smell anything.”

“It's that deviated septum of yours, I bet. Serves you well in times like these.”

“Ha, ha.”

“Honestly, Gee, there's nowhere to wash it. And would you, even? Do you even have any soap?”

“Fuck you, I have soap.” Gerard's face tenses up, furrowing his brow and squinting at Otter.

Ray runs his hand over his face, and Otter laughs. Ray shoots him a look. “With you, Gee, do you have it with you?”

His features straighten out, and his mouth opens slightly. “Oh, so. You mean here. Washing it here.”

“Yeah, it's definitely not going to live to date a washing machine in Jersey. Sorry to say.” Otter snorts.

“I'm sure I could borrow some from someone. Maja probably has tons.” Gerard picks at his shirt, loose thread from the hem twirled over his fingers. “Is it really that bad?”

Ray sighs. “That's awfully sexist of you, she's a girl: she must have soap?”

“Oh, no it's just, she always smells of lavender, it must be coming from somewhere.”

“Your sense of smell surfaces at awfully convenient times, huh,” Otter says, voice dry.

Ray squares his shoulders, notes _lavender_ , and gets up. “I think I know who to ask.”

\--

“As much as I appreciate this important duty, I've gotta say, I'm not your man. For everything else, of course, but as far as water-sniffing goes, Maja's your woman.” Frank flips one of the pages in the Cosmo spread over his lap. It's got coffee damage and what Ray hopes are food stains, and one of the pages seems to be missing. He's seen it bouncing around from bus to bus, left on tables at every other stop.

Gerard's face lights up, he bumps his fist on Otter's shoulder first, then Ray's. “See, I fucking _told_ you.”

“She ain't called The Shower Locator for no reason, you know,” Frank adds with a drawl. “She can smell clean water a mile away, swear to god. I'm sure she'd be happy to help out. Especially considering the soft spot she has for you.”

Frank is still looking at the magazine when he says that, and it might not be aimed at anyone in particular, but still. Ray thanks the heat quietly; for once the flush on his face isn't as evident.

“Oh and she's an awesome spotter, too. She'll watch your shit when you're cleaning up. She even gave me a pair of flip-flops and soap when I lost mine. She's my hero.”

Otter nods at that, says, “I could use some flip-flops. Sneakers were a poor choice.” There's a beat, before he adds, “This isn't some sort of shower pyramid scheme is it? She provides the goods and now gets you to promote her goods for the rest of the tour. Cause I'm not paying anything for this shit.”

“Yes, it's an elaborate scheme that includes you guys coming to me for help, and the Ways' abysmal hygiene.”

“Hey!” Gerard pipes up. “Don't bring Mikey into this, okay, he brought a change of clothes.”

“I can't believe you just used the word 'abysmal' in a sentence, and you refused to help me with my crossword,” Ray says, and Frank sticks out his tongue. “And I can't believe you're shower buddies? I didn't realize this was a thing.”

“Oh, Ray. Ray, Ray, Ray. No need to be jealous.”

“I'm not jealous, I'm just worried about Jamia. How well is she taking this development exactly?”

“Assface, I think Jams has a better shot with her than I do.”

Otter laughs, elbow poking at Ray's side. “Ain't that the truth.”

\--

“Wait, Ray, you like Maja?” Gerard asks, dropping his comic to the floor. He reaches out a hand, and Mikey passes him another one from the top bunk.

“I think he way more than likes Maja," Frank says, and Ray can practically hear him wiggling his eyebrows.

"Huh.”

“You guys do realize I'm actually here, right? Why is this conversation taking place?” Ray asks, knees bumping against the top of his bunk.

“How did you miss this?” Mikey asks. He actually pops over the top of his bunk, casting a shadow over the floor.

Gerard shrugs. “Dunno, dude, I guess I don't spend my time preoccupied with other people's love lives.”

“Or lack thereof,” Ray mumbles and regrets the words as soon as they escape his mouth. His comment goes unacknowledged, just like his existence, apparently.

“Anyway. I approve, she's nice.”

“You just say that cause she held your hair when you were throwing up on the dahlias.”

“Since when were you a gardener?”

“Oh, burn, buuurn,” Frank says dramatically, clutching his chest.

“If I could reach you with this comic, and it wasn't so dear to my heart, you would be smacked senseless.”

“Your insults, your threats. They sting.”

Mikey laughs at Frank's comment, rolling back into his bunk. His voice is muffled when he says, “Gerard has a point though, you could do worse. Barf support is always a good thing in a partner.”

Maybe, maybe if Ray doesn't actually participate in the conversation they'll forget what they were talking about. And that they were talking to him.

“Oh, and you know what else. Houston, when I got lost after the show? I was actually in her peeps bus and she brought me back. True story.”

“Wait, was that Wednesday? I thought you were with Bert that night?”

“Well I ended up there afterward. But before that. She is a kind soul, Ray. She fixed my t-shirt.”

“I don't understand why we're talking about this.”

“You can't play dumb forever, Ray.”

–

It's poker night in the TBS bus when Maja drinks Ray under the table.

They're not actually participating for once. Ray never did do well in sports that require to keep a straight face and Maja was banned for cheating, or, as she told him, “For being too good at bluffing. That's not cheating, but those fuckers are sore losers.”

It seems fitting that they’re sharing the remains of Maja's winnings from the last poker game she was allowed to participate in. The small bottle of Jäger was the first to go, smooth down their throats.

There's been monstrous tequila since then though, and Ray's cradling his beer bottle like a safety blanket. “You know what would be nice?”

“What?”

“A road trip.”

Maja laughs one of her loud sincere laughs, and shakes her head. Ray's happy there's no one else around to see this, see him making her laugh. It's just for him this once.

“Can I ask you something?” He swallows, and brings his beer back to his mouth quickly.

Maja downs the vodka in her cup, and grimaces. “Shoot,” she says, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.

“Okay—and please remember that I've had a lot to drink—”

Maja waves at him, “Please, you've got nothing on me.”

“Why do you call me pussycat?” She refills their cups with tequila, no more than a shot's worth in hers, and more like three in his. He brings his beer back to his mouth to keep himself occupied, watching her concentrate.

“Well.” The bottle is empty when she places it on the ground. “What do you think?”

“I really don't know. Would not be asking otherwise.”

“Seriously?” She sounds incredulous. “You're hot.”

His bottle is empty now, but he holds on to it tightly. “Well, I. That's surprising.”

She laughs again, but this time it's not nearly as reassuring.

“Dollface, I can't figure you out,” Maja's hand is on Ray's knee, and it wasn't before, he doesn't think. He's leaned into her without realizing and her fingers slide over his thigh, over his jeans.

It's only for a second, and then her hand is gone, back in her own hair, and Ray inhales, deliberately. He hadn't realized he was holding his breath. He only takes one sharp breath before bringing the empty bottle back to his mouth, needing something to occupy himself with.

“I'm not sure what you mean—there isn't anything to get. I guess I thought that you, well, you—um.”

“I fucked girls.”

“–well, yeah.” He exhales slowly.

“Don't think I haven't seen you watching.” Her accent does a trick on his libido with this one, and her hand slips back onto his thigh. It feels higher, but it could just be that he's moving closer, one of his hands cradling her knee. “Did you like what you saw?”

“I um, I know the guys have been, sort of, hounding you because of—well, sexcapades and things, but I'm trying not to, uh—fuck” and did he just say that? What the fuck. “—um.”

“Sexcapades,” she says and snorts, it morphs into somewhat of a dry laughter, which, surprisingly isn't that loud. It's hoarse and low, and fuck, the way her too-big tank top bunches across her shoulders and shows off her collarbone is just—amazing.

He's clearly just as bad as the other guys, which is not how he likes to think of himself. Then one of her sleeves slips over her shoulder and there's no bra strap to be seen. His eyes follow the fabric as it goes over her chest, and the tan skin—and fuck he has to say something before she thinks he's gone mute, or stupid. Or both.

“I don't want to—to take advantage.” It's almost a stutter, he's trying to seem confident, but he can't help but swallow.

“Maybe I'm the one trying to take advantage.”

“Oh.”

“What do you say?”

Ray can't think of a clever response, but he doesn't have to. He leans in just a little, and she's kissing him, hands burrowing into his hair and her weight is on his legs, suddenly. She straddles him, and he cradles her ass, pulling her in closer.

Her breasts fit in the palm of his hand: firm and small, and it's all he can think before she presses up against him. Her nails are short, but he can still feel them scratch against the back of his neck, her thumbs caressing his throat.

She presses against him, painfully, and her palms cup his face.

He catches his breath when her fingers fumble with his zipper. “I'm sorry—can we—”

She stops, looks at him and leans back, says, “Yes?”

“I don't think I can do this outside—I just.” He kisses her again, to emphasize that it's just the location he minds, not her, not this. Her arms wrap around him, and she mumbles, “Mmkay, whatever you want, Ray.”

He tries to lift her, she's small and light, but as soon as he gets up he feels drunk. He sways a little and Maja laughs at him, letting go and shaking her head, strings of hair shifting in the wind.

“Let's go, then. Yours or mine?”

“Mine's closer.”

He can barely process that this is real, but there he is. Maja is quick, heading towards the bus, a scant 10 yards away. Her bare legs pale in the dark, long steps giving her a head start.

As soon as she's inside her top is off and he follows suit, quickly kicking off his pants, too.

It's stunning, how quickly she's back on him,

He's on top of her, underwear still on, rubbing against her cunt.

“Get it off,” she says, hoarsely. Her hands are off his chest, and she slips off her underwear. He has a condom, pocketed from Mikey's wallet.

“Prepared, I like it,” she says, grinning, grabbing it from him and slipping it on. Her mouth is back on his, and he lets her steer. She's small but strong, her riding slow and deliberate, and Ray shakes under her, trying to match with small thrusts.

“Come on, use your hands,” she whispers before biting his ear. Her breath is hot, and he places his hand between her legs as she rides him.

“I love the way your cock feels,” she says, and squeezes him tightly, her eyes are screwed shut and it's such a hot sight, Ray has to close his too as to not come from the over stimulation.

“Oh fuck—” It's all he can say before gritting his teeth and holding still. She buries her head on his shoulder, chin against his collarbone, the short hair on her head prickling his throat.

She's loud, a groan escaping her throat when he presses his thumb just so against her. She comes before him, rubbing against the palm of his hand.

\--

They cross the last state line that night, and Ray is awoken just after the bus stops from the slam of the bus door. He figures it's Maja letting herself out, until he hears Mikey's familiar shuffling, and his and Maja's whispers.

Ray sticks his head out of the bunk, far enough to see Maja's naked legs crossing the aisle. Maja comes in to the bunks, hunkering down, says, “So, I think I should get back to the guys before they worry. But I'll see you later, 'kay?”

Mikey comes in to the bunks, and nods at Ray. “I told her she could take your crossword booklet, that's alright, right?”

“Yeah,” Ray says, “sure.”

“Cool.” Mikey climbs up into his bunk, shoes dropping to the floor with a thud. “Oh, and Pete says hi.”

Ray expects some sort of comment, a jab, anything, but the only thing that comes is the sound of Mikey kicking around his sheets, and a snore from Gerard's bunk.

  



End file.
